


cruel summer

by ivyrobinson



Series: new romantics [2]
Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyrobinson/pseuds/ivyrobinson
Summary: sequel to new romantics. the tenth anniversary of the death of anya's family brings new questions and potentially the path to the answers.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Series: new romantics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613395
Comments: 30
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

The tenth anniversary of Anya’s family death sneaks up on her during an uncomfortably hot and sticky summer when her and Dmitry are in the process of moving and she’s about five months pregnant. She’s understandably distracted when the news cycle begins. 

She’s laying on the floor of what is the living room, using her shirt as a pillow and holding a portable fan close to her face as she scrolls through twitter on her phone when she sees a retweet that almost makes her drop it on her face. 

Dmitry sets a box down near her, “The delivery people will be here in the next half an hour, so you might want to put your shirt back on.” 

Anya directs the fan out to blow in his direction, “Are they delivering an air conditioner?”

“Yes,” he says crouching down beside her. He offers his hand to help her sit up. “Two of them. One for here, and one for our bedroom.” 

Anya pulls her shirt back on, “I love you.” He goes to put his arm around her and she scoots away. “But don’t touch me until after the air conditioner has started running.” 

“You get more and more high maintenance every day,” he teases. 

She tucks her phone away. If there’s anything she’s ever truly excelled at, it’s ignoring her past. “I thought Gleb and Vlad were helping you with boxes.” 

“Gleb is,” he tells her, sitting near her on the floor. “Vlad says he’d love to help out, but his bad back and all.” 

Anya rolls her eyes, Vlad’s alleged bad back has been his excuse for getting out of things for years. “Ah, of course.” 

“He says he’d be happy to help with simpler stuff like picking out stuff for the nursery,” Dmitry adds. 

“No thank you,” Anya tells him, poking him on the shoulder. “I’ve seen Vlad’s decorating style and it’s very nouveau riche on crack.” 

“You’ve never sounded more like your grandmother,” he tugs on her ponytail. 

She frowns, thinking of what she saw earlier but shakes it off. “Yes, Nonna frequently refers to things as being on crack.” 

Dmitry snorts, and goes to respond but the doorbell sounds and echoes throughout the mostly empty house. “Your air conditioners await.” 

“The best birthday present you could’ve gotten me,” she tells him. 

“You do know just because something is bought in June doesn’t automatically make it a birthday present for you?” Dmitry asks her, standing up. “And you helped pay for these.”

Anya shakes her head, “I don’t understand the words you are saying.” 

He just shakes his head and goes to open the door.

Once cold air is circulating again, the future can’t be anything but bright.

-

Once the air conditioner and couch are installed, Anya plans on never moving again. Pizza arrives towards the end of Dmitry, Gleb and Paulina loading everything into the house. Well Paulina gives up early, grabbing a beer and a slice of pizza to join Anya on the sofa. 

“Did you get pregnant just to avoid having to help move?” Polly asks her, eyeing her suspiciously. 

“The decisions to buy a house and to get pregnant were made at the same time,” Anya defends herself, though she would’ve done a lot to avoid having to move again. The move from her apartment with the girls to her and Dmitry’s apartment had been hell. 

But a larger living space was also necessary in order for them to have a child and it seems smarter to move before the child is actually here rather than trying to move with an infant. 

“Sure,” Polly says and Anya gasps in mock outrage. She reaches over and gently pats Anya’s bump. “Do you feel it move yet?” 

Anya nods, “She only moves for Dmitry though. I feel ganged up on already.”

“Mitya!” Polly calls and Dmitry and Gleb walk into the room, plates of pizza in hand. “Come talk to your child, I want to feel it move.” 

“It’s not a circus trick,” Dmitry tells her, sitting on the arm of the sofa by Anya. 

“He likes being the only one she moves for,” Anya whispers to Polly loudly. 

“Do you know if you’re having a girl for certain?” Gleb asks, pulling up a chair that hasn’t made it into the kitchen yet. 

“No,” Dmitry says at the same time Anya says, “Yes.” 

“Anya is using her psychic connection to her fetus to determine that it’s a girl,” Polly explains, “and Dmitry is waiting for science.” 

“I don’t doubt Anya,” Dmitry says before she can even protest, “We have until November, there’s no rush to know anything for certain.” 

“That’s fancy talk for saying he doubts me,” Anya says, as he places his hand between her shoulder blades. 

“I think he’s just trying to mentally prepare himself for possibly living with two Anyas,” Polly teases. 

“His dream,” Anya throws back,, then directly to Polly. “I thought Marfa was coming with you.” 

Polly tríes not to look over at Gleb so she just stares really hard at the right of Dmitry’s ear. “Something came up.” 

Right. “That’s the third time something has come up in the past month,” Anya sighs, and leans against Dmitry. “This is why none of you should ever leave Brooklyn.” 

“Dunya will be back next week,” Polly tells her. Dunya went to visit her girlfriend’s family in California. “Unless…” 

“Don’t tease,” Anya says, patting the swell of her stomach. “I’m delicate.” 

Polly snorts and leans over to kiss her cheek, “You’ve never been delicate a moment of your life.” She stands up. “I am going to head home.” 

“Love you,” Anya tells her, as Gleb stands up as well. “You’re leaving as well?”

He nods, “I am giving Paulina a ride home.” He reaches over to shake Dmitry’s hand, and then hers. “And I’ve spent enough time third wheeling with you and Dmitry for a lifetime.”

She’s fairly certain it’s more the latter than the former. 

“Thank you for your help,” Anya says, and Dmitry gets up to see them both out. 

When he returns, he takes the seat next to her on the sofa. Anya swings her leg over to straddle his lap. 

“Hey, we’re alone,” he tells her as she kisses the dimple in his jaw. 

“In our very own house,” Anya says as he turns her head so he can kiss her lips. She wraps her hand around his bicep. “You looked really hot carrying all our stuff around earlier.” 

He laughs as she kisses him, “Is that why you just watched me earlier instead of helping out?” 

She nods, eager to keep supplying uses as to why she did not lift one finger during the entire process, “Obviously. It makes Gleb super uncomfortable whenever I jump you in front of him.” 

“Weirdly that never stopped you at the old apartment,” Dmitry tells her, leaning back on the sofa and pulling her over him. 

“Well he was always there,” Anya points out, pouting.

“He lived there,” Dmitry reminds her, and then kisses her again. 

All former roommates and old living situations completely forgotten. 

-

Anya’s always been a restless sleeper, but pregnancy has made her an even more restless one and Dmitry has grown accustomed to waking up several times a night. 

It’s just after three am when he wakes. 

“Anyok?” 

Anya rolls towards him, her eyes still closed. “Go back to sleep.” 

“I sleep when you sleep,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” she lies, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Then, “it’s just almost July.” 

“I know,” he says, tightening his grip on her lower back. 

“And I just saw this link earlier about how it’s the tenth anniversary so it’s going to be everywhere,” she continues on, her words picking up speed as she goes. “And not only that but it’s been ten years, and soon in a few years my family is going to have been gone from me longer than I had them.” She lifts her face up from his shoulder. “Isn’t that a stupid thing to do math on?” 

“No,” he tells her. “I used to count every year until I got to that milestone with my dad. And now I just look ahead to the year where I’ll be officially older than he ever got to be.” 

Anya reaches up to press her palm against his cheek. “How old is that?” 

“Thirty four,” he tells her. “We are still quite a few years off.” 

She frowns, her thumb brushing against his lips. “I don’t know how old my parents were when they died.” 

“It’s morbid math,” he tells her. 

“It’s going to be everywhere,” she sighs. “I mean, it’s everywhere every year, but a ten year anniversary…” 

“Want to go to a country that doesn’t know anything about your family?” Dmitry offers. 

She lets out a soft laugh, “I don’t think we can afford that but it’ll be fine. I’ll just delete social media for a month or two.” 

“Anything else?” He offers. 

“I’ll let you know if it comes up,” she promises, and closes her eyes. “Now go back to sleep, you need your beauty rest.” 

That gets a smile out of him. But he waits until her breathing settles back into something more like sleep before he attempts to fall back into it as well. 

It’s going to be a very long summer.


	2. Chapter 2

The city makes the summer heat and humidity about ten times worse than it was back home. It’s neither the worst heat nor humidity Gleb has experienced, but absence has not made it grow fonder for him. This summer is spent in the concrete environment of Manhattan, and in the even more appropriately named Hell’s Kitchen, following an unhappy soon to be ex-husband. 

He finishes up, tucking the equipment into his backpack, and stops at the closet shop to pick up a new bottle of water as he feels his personal cell vibrate in his pocket. 

He blinks in surprise when he sees his mother on the caller ID, “Hello, Mother.”

“Glebka,” Lia says, by way of greeting. “Did you take any of your father’s things?” 

Gleb hasn’t been home since Christmas and it was such an unmitigated disaster, he’s spent the entire current year trying to forget about it. 

“No,” he says before realizing it’s a lie. He took an entire box of his father’s stuff about four years earlier once he realized his father had been investigating Anya’s past. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just weird, one of your father’s colleagues came by for some case they had been working on years ago,” Lia tells him. It’s a bizarre idea, as far as Gleb had ever been aware his father had no colleagues, always depending only on himself. “But the box was mislabeled and had your stuff.”

“What colleague?” Gleb asks, bypassing that detail. He had switched out the box of his dad’s findings on Anya and the Romanov massacre for a box of his random stuff. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lia sighs. His mother didn’t have much interest in her late husband’s career or doings when he was alive. “He said they were working on a case in Philadelphia.” 

Gleb’s blood runs cold despite the heat. There’s no way his father would’ve worked with anyone on that case. He had dropped it upon Anya’s request but from what he gathered when working on it and what he knew of his father he knew there had been no one else involved. 

“I don’t know anything about any cases in Philadelphia,” he tells her. “I did take some of his ties when I first came home.” 

“That’s for the best,” she says. “The rest of it is donated by now.” 

The Vaganovs were not a sentimental family. 

Gleb tried to think of a way to casually ask, “Do you remember who it was that was working with Dad? I can see if any of his old associates know anything?” 

“He gave me a card,” his mother tells him. “I’ll see if I can find it and send you the information later.” 

“Thank you,” he says, and then a pause. “Was there anything else?” 

“No, it’s just strange,” Lia says. “I’m usually so meticulous when it comes to organizing. How unlike me to mislabel something.” 

Gleb keeps quiet. And then, “It happens to the best of us.” 

“I suppose it must.” 

They say their goodbyes. 

He does not have a good feeling about any of this at all. 

-

Anya supposes she must be more anxious than normal, as Trixie hasn’t left her lap in an hour. The calico cat is working tirelessly in her kneading and butting her head against Anya’s bump. Trixie was prescribed by her therapist to help with her PTSD and most specifically her nightmares. Apparently an extreme fear of being alone and a codependency on just one person to help with nightmares wasn’t necessarily healthy. 

She absentmindedly scratches Trixie’s head as Dmitry chooses what to watch. 

“Do you think she keeps bumping against my stomach because I’m anxious or because the baby is anxious?” Anya asks, tilting her head up to look at him from where it’s settled on his lap. 

Dmitry’s been absently playing with her hair, and he pauses, “Are you anxious?” 

“Never,” she lies. “Keep playing with my hair.”

He tugs gently on a curl, “Okay, what are we not anxious about?” 

“I told you, it’s not me that’s anxious,” she protests. “It’s your child that is.”

“Oh okay,” he says as this is a reasonable announcement. Dmitry untangles one hand from her hair and slides it under her top, palm pressed against her skin. “What is she anxious about?” 

“Existence,” Anya sighs. There’s a ripple of movement and a jab below her rib cage. Dmitry’s thumb rubs circles against where her skin jumps. It’s such a weird feeling and thing to experience. She’s never felt less alone. “My grandmother offered to send me some of mine and my sibling’s stuff.” 

It’s not the first time Marie’s offered up family stuff to her. She has a family heirloom on her ring finger, keeps it close to the other part of her heart. It feels like an overwhelming idea to open herself up to old memories that still remain locked in her brain. 

Trixie circles around in her lap, now that the space where she had been kneading is occupied by Dmitry’s hand, and folds up. Her body purring at a calm tempo. 

“What did you tell her?” He asks, as she slides her hand over his to interlock their fingers. 

“I’d think about it,” Anya responds. It was the typical answer she gave her grandmother when it came to going through family items and memories. She can feel Marie getting more impatient with her with every passing year. She doesn’t like to reflect on the source of that impatience. “It doesn’t seem like a good time, but it never will, you know?”

“Have you brought it up to your therapist?” 

“I can’t- Trixie is too biased,” Anya evades. “She’s seduced by the idea of all the boxes she’ll get to play in.” 

“Your human therapist,” he needlessly clarifies. “Not Beatrix.” 

She huffs in offense on behalf of the aforementioned cat. “Oh, her.” She shrugs, or manages to do as much as she can accomplish one in this position. “We are still focusing on embracing and enjoying the little victories life has to offer.” 

Anya didn’t really mind the concept but sometimes it felt a little tedious to celebrate what should be basic things. 

“What’s today’s little victory?” Dmitry asks, walking straight into that one. 

“I got you to make me zephyrs,” she says, reaching up to pat him on the cheek. 

He takes his other hand out of her hair to catch her hand, “I don’t seem to recall this moment today.”

“Because it’s about to happen in two minutes,” Anya tells him, matter of factly. 

“Oh is it?” he asks, but he nudges her with his knee to get her to sit up. 

She does so, and Trixie hops off her lap. Apparently Anya’s anxiety has sufficiently been calmed by the promise of marshmallows. 

“This pregnancy thing is really going to pay off if you indulge my every whim,” she says as he bends down to kiss her before heading towards their kitchen. 

“I just hold out hope you’ll awaken one day craving something healthy,” he calls back to her. 

Anya hopes not. It’d be terrible to be betrayed by your own child so early on. 

-

Marfa Spektor is not one to try to avoid people or situations, but it seems 25 is the year she turns that leaf off. She plays with a half smoked cigarette as she hits ignore on her cell phone. 

Paulina is uncharacteristically silent, as she flips through her magazine and sips her lemonade. 

“You obviously want to say something,” Marfa snaps at her. 

Polly just hums a negative response, “I feel like my silence says everything I need to.” Ah yes, the real issue with having lifelong friends. She pulls up the magazine, familiar sets of blue eyes standing out on it. “You ever think that as fucked up as our childhoods were, at least there wasn’t a national obsession over what happened during it?” 

Marfa slaps the magazine down, “I can’t believe you’re reading that shit.”

“Someone has to,” Polly tells her. “Anya will ignore it all, and I don’t want a surprise announcement.”

“What are they going to announce?” Marfa asks, “That some random girl from Rochester is secretly a Romanov?” 

“Gleb’s dad figured it out,” Polly points out and Marfa winces. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility. And these stupid anniversaries always bring the crazies out of the woodwork.” 

Marfa arches an eyebrow, “And what do you know of it?” 

Polly reaches over and stubs out the cigarette on her. “I helped Lily and Marie with the anniversary last year.” 

“Why?” 

“It was a good networking opportunity,” Polly tells her. 

“Is Anya’s grandmother going to sue all the people pretending to be her grandchildren?” 

Polly shakes her head at her, “She knows a lot of people. Influential people.” 

She had always been the most motivated out of all of them. 

“Well good luck with that,” Marfa says, tired of this conversation already. “So you’re making connections and infiltrating the conspiracy nuts who are obsessed with what happened to our best friend?” 

“Well, put it like that,” Polly sighs. “Have you seen our best friend lately?” 

“Not since the move,” Marfa hedges. “This weekend most likely.”

Polly doesn’t look like she believes her, sipping her lemonade before she speaks. “She will hunt you down if she goes too long without seeing you.” 

“Can’t imagine where she learned that tenacity,” Marfa says, innocently. 

Polly snorts and finishes her glass, setting it down and getting up. “Don’t become a stranger.” 

“Tell Anya I’ll see her soon,” Marfa calls out after her. 

“Tell her yourself,” Polly calls back.


	3. Chapter 3

Bad decisions could take many forms. The most dangerous of them were those that didn’t feel like a bad decision in the moment. It was the sort of thing that Anya and, to an extent, Dunya has excelled at when they were all younger. Paulina wavered somewhere between actively choosing to making bad decisions but mostly always chose the good, or right, one. Marfa made bad decisions but was always too self aware to not see them for what they are. 

This summer is made for terrible decisions that feel good at the time. 

Or so Marfa attempts to convince herself as her mouth drags down her current roommate's abdomen. 

Karolin and her have had flirtatious and light companionship for the past year they’ve been roommates but have always had boundaries. Boundaries that seem to have melted along with everything else in this summer heat, culminating in their current position on the couch. 

Her phone vibrates on the coffee table in front of the couch, for a moment the sound blending in with the sound of the three fans pointed at them currently running. 

Karolin sighs under her as Marfa takes a peak at the phone. Gleb. She hit decline, and brought her mouth back to Karo’s. 

“Important?” She asks, sliding her hand under Marfa’s shirt. 

“Nope,” she replies, the buzzing of her phone trying to contradict her. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Maybe you should get it,” Karo tells her, reaching up to tuck a strand of Marfa’s hair behind her ear. 

Marfa shifts to sit up and grab her phone, “Sorry,” she tells her, before picking up the phone. “Is someone dying?” 

Karo slides out from under her, getting up to leave her to her phone call. Well now it was going to be unnecessarily awkward. At least if they had sex and then it was awkward, it would’ve been earned awkwardness. 

“Uh,” there’s silence at the other end. “I’m not quite certain how to answer that.” 

Well, that may be an even more disturbing response than if he had said yes. 

She pulls her hand through her hair, undoing what remains of her braid. “What’s wrong?”

“My mother called,” he begins, and she can’t think of anything she wants to hear about less than his mother. “Someone from Philadelphia claims to have been helping my father with a case in that area.” 

Marfa goes completely still, “Do you think he was working with someone about Anya’s case?” 

“No,” his answer is definitive. “If he were, it wouldn’t have been with a stranger in Philadelphia.” 

“Do you know who it was?” She’s biting her lip, as though if he says a name it’ll mean anything to her. 

“No,” he says, and she deflates. “She says he left a card and she’s going to see if she can find it.”

“Did you tell Anya?”

“Not yet,” he’s hesitating. “She has a lot going on right now.” 

Yes a new house, impending baby. All the bells and whistles they couldn’t even dream of ten years before. 

“She’s not breakable,” Marfa says softly. “And holding back stuff from her hasn’t worked so well in the past.”

“I remember,” he says, and she knows there’s not a lot he forgets. “It’s just…”

Always something. 

“I’ll tell her,” Marfa decides. “I have to go see her anyway.” 

Then she hangs up before he can respond. 

-

When Anya arrived at her first group home she had nothing but a knapsack of borrowed clothes. When she first moved to New York City she had two suitcases of clothes and some sentimental items. When she moved to her last apartment she swore she didn’t have more than a few boxes. 

Now it is a never ending collection of boxes to unpack. Clearly the issue here is Dmitry. 

And maybe some of her books she’s collected over the years. 

She flicks through her playlist options on her phone, focusing on that task rather than the far more pressing one. There’s a thump, and she looks over to see Trixie in one of the open boxes, having grown too impatient to wait for Anya to empty it. Fair enough. 

“I think you’re having the most fun with all this unpacking,” Anya comments to her, sliding on the floor to scoot closer so she can scratch the top of her cat’s head. 

The box is mostly books. Various tomes in French and Russian. Maybe she should take up another language. She knows some German, but isn’t fully proficient in it. Mastering languages is an easy skill for her. 

She has no idea where it comes from. 

Anya starts as the doorbell rings, echoing through the mostly empty house. 

She pushes herself up, more of a struggle than she’s ready to admit, and makes her way down to the front door. 

“Do I know you?” Anya asks, opening the door and turning away. 

Marfa hugs her from behind, “I love you Anya Sudayev.”

Anya pouts, because being called by her married name is somehow her weakness. “You have a funny way of showing it Marfa Spektor.”

“I’m a terrible friend and a worst sister,” Marfa agrees. “You own a house!”

“Well I mean we haven’t even made our first payment,” Anya says, relaxing in the hug. Marfa kisses her cheek before releasing her. “Help me unpack.” 

“Do you have anything to drink?” 

Anya shakes her head and lies, “No they drank it all the day we moved in.”

“Mitya wouldn’t leave his house without a bottle of vodka,” Marfa counters, wagging her finger at her. 

“True, but it’s early afternoon and rude to drink in front of the pregnant woman,” Anya calls back, as Marfa ignores her and goes into the kitchen. 

Marfa returns with two glasses, handing her one filled with lemonade. “You really haven’t unpacked.”

Well, no. But to be fair there’s been work and doctors appointments and it’s too hot to spend the time unpacking boxes of stuff. Honestly, she just wants to spend this entire time in water. 

“Don’t come in late and criticize,” Anya gripes, sitting back down. 

“I come with news,” Marfa announces, reaching over and unpacking Trixie. The cat ambles over to Anya in an offended huff. “Well two news. Do you want the diverting or upsetting news first?” 

Anya makes a face. Marfa would re-emerge bearing upsetting news. “Can I ask for the diverting and skip the upsetting altogether?” 

“You can,” Marfa says, stacking the books in some sort of order. “But you can’t get upset when the shit hits the fan later for not telling you.”

She sighs, taking a sip of her lemonade, “Well start with the non upsetting and we will see how I feel after.” 

Marfa shakes her head, wiping dust off on her shorts. “I hooked up with Karolin.” 

“Was it good?” 

“It was….interrupted,” she says. “But good up until then.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to pick up again?” Anya asks, she hasn’t touched a box since Marfa started unpacking books. Instead she strokes Trixie’s fur. 

“God, I hope so,” Marfa says, tipping her head back against the couch she’s leaning against. “I’m so over not having sex.” 

“When was the last time you?” Marfa gives her a look that’s easy to interpret. “Oh, ouch.” 

“This was just a few hours ago,” she continues on. “We will see how it goes.” 

“Just be careful,” Anya warns, causing Marfa to snort. “You don’t want an awkward roommate or friend situation!” 

“How much thought did you put into it before you hooked up with Dmitry?” Marfa asks her. 

“He bought me my favorite chips!” Anya protests, because the truth is she put exactly one thought into it before the first time she hooked up with Dmitry (well not counting the dare) and that one thought was that his face was really close to her face and she really had to kiss him. “And you can’t use me and Dima as an example, we were always going to end up together.” 

“I knew that,” Marfa says, reaching over to pet Trixie. “Doesn’t mean we could trust you guys to actually do it right.” 

Anya gestures around the living room before settling her hand on the swell of her stomach, “Proved you wrong.” For emphasis, she sticks her tongue out at her friend. 

Marfa scoots over to rest her head on Anya’s arm. “So you did. Are you ready for the upsetting news now?” 

“Oh, we’re still on that?” She asks, then takes a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

“Gleb said someone reached out to his mother, looking for notes on a case they were allegedly working on with his father in Philadelphia,” Marfa tells her softly, in full big sister tone and mode. “We assume it’s about you.” 

Anya wonders how many times you can be haunted in a single lifetime. 

She pulls her cat onto her lap. “So you and Gleb are talking again?”

“Anya,” her tone is a reprimand. 

Right- the wrong thing to focus on. 

“If we have to talk about my thing,” Anya says, “One day we will talk about your thing.”

Marfa takes a healthy drink from her cup. “Sure.” She sets aside her drink, “I just worry about you, with all this anniversary stuff going on.” 

“It’ll pass,” Anya tells her, and herself. “It always does.” 

“I know,” Marfa replies, humoring her. “But I don’t like not knowing what’s coming.” 

Anya has thrived on that for years, but maybe it’s time for her to be informed and prepared. 

“Can’t predict everything,” is what she says out loud. 

Marfa gives her a long look before kissing her cheek and standing up. “I just wanted to let you know what was going on.” A beat. “And to visit you.” 

That gets a laugh out of Anya, “That was convincing. But thank you.” 

Marfa drains her cup before leaving. Anya looks around at all the boxes. Somewhere, buried in there is the notebook that belongs to Gleb’s dad. 

Maybe it’s time to start to read it.


	4. Chapter 4

The heat breaks one glorious morning, so Anya finally drags herself (and Dmitry) over to Philadelphia to see her grandmother. Ever since Anya remembered her past and was reunited with Marie, her grandmother spent more and more time at her Philadelphia residence. So Anya felt a weird twisting sort of guilt when she spent log periods of time not visiting her. 

It was emotionally exhausting to be back in the city she had grown up in, and had lived a completely different life. She didn’t know how her grandmother stood it, being surrounded by this many ghosts constantly. 

Then again, she supposed she didn’t really stand it, given how little she had returned between the murders and reconnecting with Anastasia. Though she must’ve learned some way to tolerate them, as she hated the noise and dirt of New York City more than she hated being haunted. 

Anya still compartalizes the lives she’s lived, much to the frustration of her therapist. 

“You know what I missed most when I was at school in Paris?” Anya asks Dmitry as they’re stuck in traffic. 

So close to the Fourth of July and people rediscover their American Patriotism and are overcome with the urge to visit the Liberty Bell and Betty Ross’ house. 

His hand is on her knee and he squeezes it in response. She doesn’t speak much of her life before. At least she’s not the one that usually brings it up, only late at night when she’s gasping out nightmares. 

“What’s that?” 

Dmitry has far more patience than she does when it comes to traffic. Her right bare foot is propped up on the dash, tapping impatiently. Then again, Dmitry has far more patience than she does in almost everything. 

“Cheesesteaks,” she sighs. 

“Is that your way of hinting that I should bring you back one when I’m out with Vlad?” He asks. 

“If you don’t mind,” she responds sweetly. “Nonna thinks they’re uncultured.” Which was a rude stance given their family had lived in Philadelphia for several generations. “And she’s gotten even more annoying than you when it comes to eating healthy.” 

To be fair, Dmitry has always been annoying about her eating more healthy.

“Any other requests?” He questions, because sometimes he likes to live dangerously. 

“An ice,” she decides. “Watermelon.” 

“You know your grandmother is going to feed you when you get there,” Dmitry points out to her. 

“I’m eating for two,” she reminds him. “Her meal can be for the baby, and yours can be for me.” 

“Well as long as we aren’t feeding processed cheese to a fetus,” he teases her. “I suppose that’s alright.” 

“Don’t insult our Cheese Whiz,” she pokes him in the shoulder. “What are you and Vlad doing today?” 

“I don’t think we really have anything planned,” Dmitry tells her. The real plan was for him and Vlad to avoid spending too much time in her grandmother’s presence. 

Her grandmother liked Dmitry, but could be a little too intense in her interrogations. 

“Is that code for doing tourist stuff?”

Dmitry makes a face, “God no, we wouldn’t be able to bring you back your food until midnight if we did that.” He lifts his hand up off her knee to brush his thumb against her cheek, “You gonna be okay being here right now?” 

The anniversary is more intense in Philadelphia, given where the murders happened and the fact that the Romanovs are…were an old Philadelphia family. The first year, she came early July, unprepared to see posters with her and her siblings and parents on it, honoring their memory. 

“Staying at my grandmothers,” she turns her head to kiss his palm. “Won’t go anywhere else. If you see a good conspiracy theory book about me though, grab it. The last one claimed I had never come back from boarding school and remain hidden in France out of fear of my life.” 

As long as they weren’t close to her life, she didn’t mind reading the more ridiculous things about her own survival. 

It also made no sense because if she hadn’t come back from boarding school then why had Maria? They had attended together. 

“I didn’t care for the one where one of the murderers saw you and it changed his mind about it and he rescued you and you ran off together.” 

Anya shudders. For one thing, she had barely turned 15 at the time. For another, he had come with the intent to murder her and her family, why the fuck would she ever fall in love with him?

They had burned that one after reading it. It still hadn’t felt like enough. 

It was probably a strange way to process trauma but reading them helped it feel further from her actual life. 

“Don’t worry,” she tells him. “I’ll try not to leave you for any murderers while you’re gone.” 

“It’s the least you can do,” he tells her, as he’s finally able to pull onto the private drive her grandmother lives on. 

He pulls up to the entrance. 

“Coward,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning over to kiss him. “You’re not coming up?”

Dmitry shook his head, “If I come up I’m not coming down, I know how this works. Tell Vlad I’m here.”

She rolls her eyes but kisses him again, before hopping out of the car. 

-

“Darling,” Lily greets Anya at the door, and air kisses her cheeks. Anya passed Vlad in the lobby, already on his way to join Dmitry. “You’re one of those annoying pregnant women who glow and look beautiful when they’re pregnant.” 

“Thanks,” Anya responds, slipping off her shoes. “I think it’s more of an air conditioning glow than a pregnancy glow though.” 

“Your mother looked terrible when she was pregnant,” her grandmother chimes in, walking into the foyer. “Her skin would go gray, and she’d be tired and sick the entire time.” 

“And yet she did it five times,” Anya responds, because she’s not certain how to. 

“Well she loved you all very much,” Marie says, and gives her a light hug in greeting. “Lily is right, though, you look exceptionally well.” She loops her arm with Anya’s. “Now, I’ve had a light lunch made for us.” 

Lily waves her goodbye as Marie leads Anya to the dining room. She feels twelve years old again, small and surrounded by the wide open space of her grandmother’s residence. 

She’s still not used to having memories, she thinks. 

“When are you and Dmitry leaving to camp?” Marie asks as rosemary chicken and asparagus is placed in front of her. 

They weren’t exactly going to camp, but hanging out in a small cabin in the woods probably sounded like that to her grandmother. “Next week, we’ll be back by the sixth.”

She nods. “Fourth of July is always such a busy time, it’s good to get out of the city noise.” 

Her grandmother and her never talk about the reason she disappears around this time, or her aversion to loud popping noises, or why sometimes the sight of blood is enough to make her throw up. Or why she can’t go to dark, enclosed or underground places. 

She knows her grandmother knows some of the details of what happened that night, and most likely she knows far more than Anya can remember but it’s a topic she skirts around if they ever come too close to it. 

It’s one thing to read it, it’s another to have to look into someone’s eyes as they talk about living through it. 

“You’re going back to Paris soon?” 

Marie nods, her hand shaking slightly as she brings the fork up to her mouth. She chews and swallows before answering, “Tomorrow, actually. So I’m glad you came when you did. I’ll be back in the fall for you.” She lets out a displeased noise. “Lot of vultures, they are. Circling around, calling this an anniversary as if it were anything to celebrate.” 

“I’m sorry,” Anya says, reaching over to touch her hand. 

“Don’t be,” Marie pats her hand, “The best decision we made was to let you continue your life as is. I sleep much more easily knowing they’re harassing my assistants and not you.” 

Anya wonders if that means she by default owes her grandmother’s assistants flowers or some sort of token of gratitude because she can’t imagine it. She’ll ask Lily about it later. 

“Still,” she says, picking at her lunch and wishing it was the food Dmitry is bringing back for her. “I wish there was something I could do for you.” 

“You already do, by merely existing,” Marie tells her, then pulls back, blinking. “Have you come up with a name yet?” 

“No,” Anya is most intimidated by this aspect of it. She currently enjoys the vagueness of the future. It feels more manageable. “We are waiting until we find out the gender before even thinking about it.” 

“What do you think you’re having?” Marie asks. “I think I knew your father was a boy before I even knew I was pregnant.” 

She wouldn’t be surprised if her grandmother hadn’t strong armed the universe into forcing the cluster of cells to become a boy, no matter what the original intent of science had been. 

“Girl,” Anya responds with a shrug. “We find out soon for sure.” 

“And the new house?” 

“It’s nice,” Anya says, happy to move the conversation away from the baby. It’s probably just in her head, but she feels an odd sort of pressure when talking about it with her grandmother. “Much quieter than the apartment.” 

“You’ll find that,” Marie agrees, and Anya feels like there’s something she isn’t saying. But instead, all she offers is, “Make sure to stay in touch when you’re away.” 

“I will,” she promises, but she feels an odd sense of foreboding about all of it.

Anya pushes it off to the chicken she has no desire to eat and the upcoming milestone. Everything would feel normal and right by the time August hits. She just has to survive July first.


	5. Chapter 5

“You know,” Dmitry says stretching out on the bed beside her, and she turns her head to look over at him. “I think I could live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with you forever.” 

Anya reaches over and pats him on the cheek, “Pretty sure we’d get arrested for child abandonment if we did.” 

He turns his head slightly to kiss the palm of her hand. “She would come with us.” 

“I like the city,” she reminds him. Though she felt more calm and needed noise less now she’s older. 

“I know,” he says. “I like you.” 

Anya moves her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “That’s supposed to be a secret.” 

“No one is here except Trixie,” he reminds her. “And I’m pretty sure she knows already.” 

Dmitry kisses her before she can pout. 

“Do you think this will get easier?” Anya asks him, as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “July. As time goes by, when we have our own family?” 

“No,” he tells her, “Well, probably a little bit but it’ll probably stay with you. And that’s okay. We will bring you and our daughter and our cat and anything that comes after that here every July.” 

Anya sighs, it’s not what she exactly wants to hear but she also knows it’s more true than what she wants to hear. “Do you think the heat will at least break? Or are we doomed to have a miserable heat straight into November?” 

“We can move to Antártica if it’s still 100 degrees in October,” Dmitry promises. 

“What if I get too cold there?” Anya asks, with a pout. 

“We will find you a place that’s just right,” he responds easily, kissing the top of her head. “Get some rest, Goldilocks.” 

Anya closes her eyes, but in her head she can still hear loud popping noises in her head, even this deep into the woods. 

-

“What have you found out?” Marfa asks, without preamble, and setting her purse down on an empty chair before sitting across from him. “Please don’t tell me nothing.”

Gleb is careful in his wording, “Not much.” He continues quickly before she can protest. “He’s reluctant to give me any information when I don’t have any of my father’s resources to offer back.”

Marfa sighs, “Did he offer any information at all?” 

No he had been sketchy and cagey and vague. Gleb hadn’t been home around this time so he can’t even really verify anything his father did or didn’t do or who he worked with. Especially not with the diary in Anya’s possession. 

He wonders if she’s ever read it, but it’s an answer he thinks he knows without having to ask. 

“Not much to go by,” Gleb admits. He takes a sip of his coffee. Meeting up with Marfa always needed a stronger drink than this, but he’s not one to drink so early in the afternoon. He will smoke a cigarette or two afterwards. “I started looking into him, though. He’s a retired cop.” 

Marfa tears the edges of the napkin in front of her. “Retired more than ten years ago or since then?”

“Since then,” Gleb responds. “My father didn’t work much with cops, except occasionally those he grew up with.”

Private investigators and cops did not get along often. 

“Any chance he grew up near Syracuse?” Marfa asks, a tilt of her lips in a bit of a sarcastic smile. 

“Nope,” Gleb shakes his head. “Traffic division. Wasn’t even involved in the Romanov case.” 

Marfa frowns at that, she never likes when things don’t add up. They were a thing that didn’t add up. “What else did you find out?”

“Nothing else yet,” Gleb answers. “But I’m working on it.”

“It’s probably time to do an actual investigation of this,” she sighs. 

“I’ll talk to Anya when she’s back,” Gleb says, and he wishes there were a way around that. 

She’s been through so much and is on the edge of so many good things, but he also knows not including her and not getting her consent is the wrong way to go. 

Gleb’s a slow learner but he does learn. 

-

About a week after they return from their cabin in the woods, a return to city life and the sticky heat of summer in Brooklyn, it’s time for the doctors appointment to prove Anya right. 

Or at least that’s how Anya keeps referring to it. He helps secure her hair in braids before they go. She’s wearing one of his shirts, the swell of her stomach seems to have nearly doubled in size since they’ve gotten home. As though she had gone to bed with a gentle swell and woke up with an obvious pregnant belly. 

She can’t button her shorts, and tells him that as they’re leaving. His shirt goes beyond the hem of her shorts so he’s not quite certain the real issue but they can try to find maternity clothes somewhere soon, he’s sure. 

The tech doesn’t blink as Anya pulls up her stomach for the gel to be put on. 

Anya reaches for his hand and he takes it as the doctor walks in. 

“Afternoon, Sudayevs,” she greets them with a smile, she’s always upbeat which Dmitry thinks is probably a good attitude to take into the delivery room. 

He expects to bring in anxiety and panic. Anya will most likely bring in her brand of chaos. 

“Hey Dr. Hildreth,” Anya returns and Dmitry nods in greeting. 

“Today is the day,” she tells them. “Are we excited and does anyone want to place any bets before we begin?” 

Dmitry holds up Anya’s hand, “She placed her bet as soon as she was pregnant.”

Before then, really. Back when their baby was just a concept, a plan. 

Feels weird to be halfway to the first finish line. 

“And what do we think it’ll be?” The doctor asks as she gets the wand ready. 

Anya’s clammed up, biting her lower lip. 

“Now you’re shy?” Dmitry asks her. “You’ve been telling our friends for months.” 

“I don’t like being wrong,” she responds, making the doctor laugh. 

“You’ve got a fifty fifty shot, Anya,” Dr Hildreth reminds her. “And if you’re wrong, we can pretend it never happened. As long as you’re still happy with the results.” 

Anya looks up at Dmitry and he squeezes her hand in return. “Girl.” 

She looks over at the monitor, and Dmitry follows her gaze. Their child appears mostly as shadows, given the black and white nature of the sonogram. A moving inkblot. And a loud thumping sound of a heart beat. 

“Well, good news,” the doctor says, pointing at the baby on the screen. “She’s looking good and healthy today. Enjoy your victory, Anya.” She writes something down in the charts. Today’s appointment is purely for this. “Take a moment, and you can pick up everything at the desk.” 

Dmitry manages a thank you before turning to Anya and kissing her. She’s already grasping at his shirt to pull him in and laughs when she pulls away. 

Her face is wet and he’s not certain if it’s from her tears or his. Or both. 

He cleans them off with the pad of his thumb and she loops her hands around his wrists. 

“Our daughter’s already on my side,” she points out, unable to contain her smile. Happiness and awe. A much lighter mood than the one that’s been following her around for the past month. 

“Good thing I am too,” Dmitry tells her, helping her up from the table. “A little you.” 

“Yeah,” she says, and leans back against him. “I would’ve loved her either way.” 

“I know,” Dmitry tells her, kissing her on the cheek. “You can enjoy being right.” 

“I am and I do,” Anya says. “I’ll have to email Lily a copy of this sonogram to show Nonna. And send it to the girls.” 

“You don’t want to take out some sky writing to announce you’re right?” he teases, wrapping his arm around her as they make their way out the room. 

“No,” she says, wrapping her arm around his lower back. This will only work until they’ve left the air conditioning. Or maybe not. He likes having her so close. “Knowing you know that I’m right is enough for me.” 

“I think those were your wedding vows too,” he says and she beams, or rather she hasn’t stopped beaming. 

This is his favorite version of her that’s ever existed.


End file.
